


Meeting

by littlemiss_m



Series: HOME, a series [16]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: First Meetings, Gen, Making Friends, Pre-angst, Reunions, Xenophobia, cute babies and silly teenagers, i've posted almost 20 stories here and i still can't think of tags to use lol, references to a war
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-23
Updated: 2018-04-27
Packaged: 2019-04-26 23:04:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 8,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14412417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlemiss_m/pseuds/littlemiss_m
Summary: Prompto Argentum and how he comes to meet the most important people in his life.





	1. Cor I

**Author's Note:**

> Because I thought it'd be a good idea to post things way out of order, this (the last fic I'll ever post in this series, probably) is the actual prologue! This predates all the plot and the angst, and doesn't really add much plot to the story but might clear up some points, especially re: Prompto's parents.
> 
> I'll be posting two or three chapters at a time, so please make sure you don't miss any! <3
> 
> //edit 31.10.2018 -- though this is the chronological beginning to the series, I have transferred this to the end of the list for bigger impact. If this is the firsy fic you're trying to read in this series, please do yourself a favor and start from the beginning! <3

He should've learned by now. There truly is no excuse for not realizing that John would take ”no, I am not available for babysitting, please fuck off and leave me be” as the opposite, but what is done is done, Cor supposes; it's not like he has a choice any longer, what with the screaming toddler rolling around on his living room carpet.

”Hey, none of that, now,” Cor tries, knowing reason is futile but hoping his voice will garner some kind of a positive reaction from the baby. ”I've got your food here, see? You've got, uh, super yummy... pasta bolognese, pureed? Oh, wow.”

The baby – Prompto, Cor tries to remember, the baby has a name and he should use it – turns to him with a red, snotty face and wobbly lips. He's eighteen months old, only a few weeks younger than the little princeling currently playing with a _proper_ nanny rather than some untrained military personnel. Eitherway, the short age gap has Cor whispering his thanks to the Six, because at least he has some kind of an idea of what to expect; Gladio's already getting so big Cor can barely remember what it was like to babysit a crying toddler.

”O-kay, let's get you some food,” Cor says. He picks up Prompto from the floor and holds him on one arm while he traipses to the kitchen. There's a handwritten note attached to the jar of baby food, careful directions and some notes to help him with the gargantuan task of feeding a hungry child.

The woman seemed nice enough, he supposes; a good match to John, if the first impression holds true at all. She's seen war, this Mimosa, has lived through the same horrors John has experienced. When they met some two hours earlier, she was smiling ear-to-ear, yet her eyes gave away her wariness.

Officially, she's a Tenebraean citizen, and therefore legally in Lucis; yet the careful way she mentioned her hometown by the border was enough to tell Cor she was most likely born a Niff. Still, it's not his problem – it's not _anyone's_ problem, not with the war over and won, the borders open once more – so he tries to not care, especially when a diaper change reveals a black barcode tattood on Prompto's right wrist.

Cor scoops half of the food into a plastic bowl and places it in the microwave. ”Yummy goo,” he murmurs, more to himself than Prompto, who starts shriek-laughing as soon as the hears the loud hum of the microwave. ”Is this what we're feeding babies now?”

Gladio used to eat home-made purees prepared by the Amicitia butler. Prince Noctis probably eats even better than that, carrots and peas so perfect the common populace has never seen anything like them. Cor doesn't know, and frankly speaking, doesn't particularly care. As long as the kid grows up healthy and good, then he's satisfied.

Cor doesn't own a highchair so he sits Prompto on his lap after the food is warm. It looks just as disgusting as it did in the jar, a blurry mess of tomato sauce and tiny crumbs of spaghetti all blended together. It's probably the least appetizing thing Cor has ever seen, and he grew up first in poverty and then on military rations, but Prompto appears to have no complaints.

”Yummy yummy,” Cor sighs while trying to guide the first spoonful into Prompto's mouth. The boy laughs, claps his hands, and spits globs of tomato goo all over their clothes. ”Oh, _joy_.”


	2. Clarus I

It's not often Clarus has an entire day off with no paperwork piling up on his desk at home, yet today is one of those and he's determined to enjoy every last second of it, even if his wife isn't home. Gladio at least is excited to hear his daddy's going to spend the entire day out with him, and together they pack everything one might need for a picnic and a nice day at the park, from a very old red-and-white blanket to a large lunch prepared by Jared.

They walk to the park and Gladio spends most of the time running circles around him, pointing out a flower here or a cool stone there. It's early enough in the day that there aren't a lot of children at the playground when they arrive, only a lone mother with a baby carriage and a book open on her lap. ”Alright, buddy, do you–”

His words are cut off by Gladio gasping in delight. ”Uncle Cor!” he yells, running somewhere behind Clarus as fast as his little six-year-old legs will allow. ”Uncle Cor! Uncle Cor!”

Clarus turns around just in time to see the horror on Cor's face as their gazes connect. He's got a large bag thrown over his shoulder and a blond kid hiding behind his knees, staring at Gladio with a thump in his mouth and a dirty chocobo plushie held close to his chest.

”Gladio, don't go running off,” Clarus warns, striding closer to where his son is bouncing next to Cor. ”Morning, Cor. Is this the boy?”

”Coco,” the boy murmurs, tugging at Cor's jeans.

”Uh, yeah,” Cor replies, glancing at Clarus before crouching down. ”This is Prompto. Prompto, here's my friend Clarus and his son Gladio.”

”Hi!” Gladio beams excitedly. ”You're really small!”

”Am not,” Prompto mutters petulantly.

”But I'm _bigger_ ,” Gladio says, rocking on the balls of his feet. ”Wanna come play with me?”

”Why won't we get settled down somewhere first?” Clarus offers, seeing how nervous Prompto looks. ”Would you like to join us, Cor, Prompto? We're having a picnic.”

”Sure, why not,” Cor says. He stands up and Prompto immediatelly reaches for him, asking to be picked up. They get settled under a tree, where Gladio helps Clarus spread the blanket down while Cor rocks Prompto in his arms. A moment later, Gladio leads a shy Prompto to the sandbox to show of the assortment of bright plastic toys baking under the warm summer sun.

”I thought you had work today,” Clarus comments quietly, a question rather than an accusation.

”John's parents were in a car crash last evening,” Cor responds. His expression is blank, his voice neutral, but eyes watch Prompto like a hawk. ”His father passed on the spot but his mother is still fighting and wants to make _amends_.”

Cor spits the last word like a curse and Clarus hums, understanding even without being explained. He hardly knows John Argentum beyond work, but with xenophobia raising its ugly head inside the city walls, it doesn't take a genius to understand what's truly going on.

”Cute kid,” Clarus says. Out of the corner of his eye, he catches a glimpse of a genuine smile on Cor's face.

”Yeah.”

Like summoned, Prompto gets out of the sandbox and toddles over to stop in front of Clarus, a dirty thumb in his mouth. He holds out his other hand. ”Wock,” he says, and Clarus resists the urge to coo.

”Yes, that is a nice rock,” he says instead, glancing at Cor who has already magicked a camera out of nowhere.

”Wock,” Prompto says again, more insistently this time.

”It's for you,” Cor murmurs from behind the camera, giving Clarus' side a small nudge.

”Oh, for me?” Clarus asks. Prompto nods and tries to shove the rock at him. ”Thank you very much, Prompto.”

He takes the stone and turns it over in his hand, examining the jagged edges and gray swirls while Prompto watches him. There's a thin streak of fool's gold running across the rough surface, but other than that, it's a perfectly normal stone. ”It's a lovely rock, Prompto, thank you so much,” Clarus repeats when he notices the boy still staring at him.

He's rewarded with a beaming smile bright as the sun above their heads, and then Prompto makes a run for Cor's empty lap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Baby Prompto takes forever to figure out the R sound. Cor (who finds out he really doesn't want to be called Cow) teaches him to call him Coco instead, and then insists it's because of Prompto's chocobo obsession :')
> 
> This day was referenced in Hunting.


	3. Noctis

On the first day of high school, Noctis walks into the campus doing his best to avoid the other kids without appearing too apprehensive or haughty. It's not an easy thing to balance but he has several years' worth of practice under his belt, plus most of the students in his year come from the same middle school and already know he doesn't like being approached.

He makes it to the classroom without being bothered too much. Only one girl stops him to try to ask for directions, and she blushes and almost runs away as soon as she realizes who she's talking to. Noctis – who has already memorized the floor plans for security reasons – sends her on her way all the same.

He's early enough that only about one third of the students in his homeroom are already there. Some of them give him bright, excited smiles but Noctis stops at the door, feeling tired and done all of sudden.

Most of the kids in the room are seated near the door, clustered together and chatting amicably with each other. The middle seats form an empty line from the teacher's desk to the back wall of the room, and then, under the windows, three students sit in a line. A blonde girl, a blond boy, and a boy with tan skin and shiny beads woven into his braids. Two Niffs and a Galahdian.

”Prince Noctis!” someone calls for him, trying to get his attention. Noctis looks at the group by the door, the empty barrier, the three lonely kids being ignored by their peers, and makes his decision.

Nodding a polite greeting at the first group, he makes his way past the empty desks and towards the windows. The three kids all glance at him without lifting their heads and Noctis chooses the seat next to the blond boy, who looks up from his phone long enough to give him a tight smile. He's playing King's Knight and Noctis almost initiates a conversation, but then the boy goes right back to ignoring him and Noctis does the same.


	4. Prompto

The teacher grins like a madwoman while shaking the bag containing all their names on little slips of paper and the glass groans in unison, though Prompto can also hear excited chitter from somewhere far behind him. The teacher begins pulling out names from the bag, one and two, one and two, dividing their entire class into pairs supposed to last for the duration of the entire school year. Some will find a match made in heaven, others their own personal hell.

Prompto is fairly sure he'll end in the latter group. He debates applying to change biology class but a few others already tried and ”not liking team spirit excercises” is apparently not an appropriate reason.

About halfway through the bag, the teacher pulls out the prince's name. ”Noctis Lucis Caelum!” she announces to the class. ”Oh wow! Let's see who's our lucky winner!”

They're not supposed to make a deal out of the prince's attendance but the teacher makes a deal out of _everything_ and no-one, not even the principal, has managed to reign her in at all. The class waits with bated breath while the teacher dips her hand into the bag, pulls out the next name, slowly, so slowly unfolds the piece of paper... Idly, Prompto imagines his name being called out next, then dismisses the idea on the spot. There's no way fate could ever be that cruel.

”...aaaaaand our next pair is!” the teacher all but yells, ”Noctis Lucis Caelum and Prompto Argentum! Oh, you're already sitting next to each other, how great!”

Prompto's heart plunges all the way down to his stomach while his glitching brain tries to catch up with what just happened. The prince turns to look at him with his usual, nonplussed expression, and Prompto curses silently in mind because the teacher won't allow him to change his pair without a really good reason, and his dad probably doesn't count, and _fuck it all_ his dad will make him move to fucking _Lestellum_ of all places if he finds out–

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is set before John becomes physically abusive with Prompto, though their relationship is already far from great.


	5. Ignis

Three weeks into the fall semester, Noctis says something that almost makes Ignis drop his spatula. ”I'm sorry,” he says, fumbling to catch the tool before it can drip tomato sauce all over the place, ”could you repeat that, please?”

Noctis clears his throat. ”I said,” he begins, holding onto the edge of the kitchen counter, ”that I made a friend. At school. Or am in the process of making one, at least.”

”I see,” Ignis says, a deep-ingrained response to communicate that he has heard and understood Noctis' words. ”That's... wonderful, I suppose.”

It takes a moment before Noctis says anything else. ”Is it really that weird?” he asks quietly. ”Or bad?”

Sighing, Ignis puts away the spatula and turns to his charge. ”No, of course not,” he says kindly, even as his mind is already compiling a list of things he must do to. ”I'm merely surprised, seeing as you have never before shown any interest in making friends with anyone.”

Noctis shrugs, a shy, pleased smile on his lips, and Ignis returns to stirring the tomato sauce. ”Well I wasn't, not really,” he mumbles. ”But we got assigned together for biology, and we had to talk because of that and he's just. Nice. Really funny. We just – clicked together, you know?”

Ignis doesn't know, not really, but he keeps on smiling all the same. ”I am happy for you,” he says. ”Does this friend of yours have a name?”

”Um, Prompto. Argentum.” Noctis pauses to take a deep breath, which – in hindsight – Ignis really shouldn't have ignored. ”His dad's on the anti-crown watch list.”

This time, Ignis does drop the spatula. Though he picks it up as fast as he can muster, there's a large splatter of tomato staining the floor already, and he hurries to get a damp cloth from the sink. ”I'm sorry, what?” he asks, almost squeaking. ”My ears must be failing me today–”

”You heard what I said,” Noctis says, almost petulant, yet there's a resolve in his voice that has Ignis preparing himself for a fight. ”He told me his dad is ex-Crownsguard and now hates the Crown, and that if he was someone supposed to keep me safe, then he wouldn't let us hang together.”

”That's–” Ignis tries, suddenly at loss for words, unable to focus on the conversation and mopping the tomato stains at the same time.

”He doesn't agree with his dad on the Crown thing,” Noctis rattles on, ignoring Ignis' fumbling. ”Prompto's a really good guy and I like spending time with him, so I'm gonna be his friend whether you like it not.”

Ignis can feel a headache coming on. He stands up, washes the cloth in the sink, and when he turns to face Noctis once more, he sees the teen standing with his arms crossed and his chest puffed out. ”He will have to go through a security check,” he says faintly.

”Which he'll pass 'cause he's just a normal guy,” Noctis says, nodding.

”I want to meet him.”

”I asked him if he wanted to hang out with me after school, but he said he wouldn't unless I had real permission from my caretakers, and that's you,” Noctis begins, sounding more and more smug as he goes on. ”So you're gonna take us to the arcade tomorrow after school and you'll see what a good guy he is.”

The next day, they go to the arcade. Ignis makes no attempts at hiding the judgment in his eyes while he watches Prompto, yet the boy doesn't shy away from him either, bouncing up to him with an excited grin and an introduction that covers his lack of tact with enthusiasm. On the surface, he's a delightfully energetic young man, though within the first hour of their meeting, Ignis begins to spot the first signs of anxiety hiding under all the cheer and energy. Still, there's not much for Ignis to complain about, and so, for now, he allows himself a reluctant sense of hope.


	6. Clarus II

The kid hasn't changed much, Clarus has to admit, watching him squirm on a stiff chair on the other side of his office desk. He's just as blond and blue-eyed as he was over a decade earlier, covered in freckles and hiding behind a face that can't seem to choose between blushing and blanching.

Every question Clarus asks, Prompto answers. Some more openly than others, sure, but he doesn't try to skirt anything important. Some of the questions Clarus feels almost sorry over – he is intereviewing a literal child, after all – but he's been doing his duty long enough to know they're all necessary in the long run.

”Your father has been on the anti-crown watch list since the year you turned seven,” he says calmly, noticing a small flinch but not yet making any assumptions over it; ”how do you feel about the matter?”

”We disagree,” Prompto says simply, mouth pressed into a thin line. He holds Clarus' gaze for a long moment, then sighs and scratches the back of his neck. ”I mean, it's all because of the refugee thing, which I am, and the Niff thing, which I _also_ am.”

Clarus hums and scritches some notes down on the form he's holding. As far as he knows, Prompto's words are the truth; it's certainly in accord with Cor's statement from years before, when he quietly explained the events that had driven him away from his best friend. Once upon a time, John Argentum was one of the most open-minded men in Lucian military; then his Niff wife died in a mugging gone wrong while doing her work in the Niff district and all went to hell. Somewhere in his grief, he came to the conclusion that refugees and immigrants were the enemy, but also that the Crown was their enabler, and so he left the Crownsguard in a furious battle that cost Cor his brother and his godson.

In a way, Clarus understands the sudden rage against the Crown of Lucis; John Argentum is far from the first or the last to retire because of a reason like this. Still, there's a question nagging at the back of his head, one that isn't strictly required by the interviewing process, but one that he can't bypass either.

”Correct me if I have misunderstood this,” Clarus says, glancing at Prompto, ”but your father is a xenophobe.”

”Uh, yes.”

”You are from Nifflheim.”

”As far as I know, yeah.”

If Prompto sees where Clarus is trying to lead him to, he doesn't acknowledge it. Sighing, Clarus goes for a more direct approach: ”Has your father ever mistreated you because of his xenophobic views?”

The laugh that spills from Prompto's lips is both startled and almost bitter. ”No, no, no, Astrals bless me, no,” he says, shaking his head. ”Gods, no. I – I don't really know what kinds of mental gymnastics he's pulling off, but, like... I guess he's worried that I'd get hurt or something, the way mom was.”

He ends his words with a shrug and Clarus nods. ”I understand,” he says. ”If he found out that you were spending time with His Highness, how would he react?”

”At No-uh, prince Noctis? I think the worst he'd do is just yell at him, about, uh, being a good-for-nothing leech and stuff like that.” Prompto glances at him, appearing nervous once more. ”Not my words, just repeating what he's told me.”

”No worries,” Clarus saying, smiling slightly. ”It is far from the first time I've heard such insinuations. And you? How would he treat you if he found out?”

”He'd make me change schools, maybe move me to Lestellum. I'd probably get the lecture of the lifetime but that's about it, I guess,” Prompto answers readily. ”That's what he said when he heard that Noctis and me would be attending the same school, anyways. I told him I'd earned my scholarship and that the other schools have worse maths teachers, so he let me be as long as I promised him I'd do my best to ignore Noct.”

”You didn't, though,” Clarus comments. Prompto snorts, almost rolls his eyes.

”Yeah, you can blame the biology teacher for that,” he mutters. ”For reals, though, even before that I thought – he looked kinda lonely, you know? I've never had any friends either, so I guess I – understood. And then we started talking because of the biology thing and the next thing I know, we're friends.”

He looks almost embarrassed in a thoroughly endearing way and Clarus finds himself smiling. ”Well, I'd say all sounds good to me,” he concludes, straightening his notes. ”I just want to remind you that if you wish to continue your friendship with His Highness, you will be under surveillance. We will continue to keep watch for a while longer, and it will take some time before you are allowed to spend time with him without a guard present. Are you still willing to do this?”

Prompto beams and aims snappy fingerguns in Clarus' direction. ”I sure am!” he exclaims, only to deflate a second later. ”Oh gods, was that that? Did I pass?”

Clarus laughs. ”You sure did, kid.”


	7. Gladio

The first time Gladio _recognizes_ Prompto Argentum is not the first he sees him, nor is it the second or even twelfth. One morning, some two weeks after getting the new friendship issue resolved, he's on his morning jog like usual and passes a blond teenager like usual, only to stop dead in his tracks because one of his usual jogging mates is, in fact, the sleepyhead prince's new best friend.

”Hey!” Gladio calls out, not pausing to think; they nod their greetings at each other every time they pass, so stopping Prompto for a conversation doesn't sound strange at all. ”Argentum! Prompto!”

Ahead of him, Prompto turns long enough to glance over his shoulder, then blanches and kicks off. Gladio stares at the cloud of dust in front of him, realizing two things: one, he's an idiot, and two, that boy sure can run.

* * *

Gladio _honestly_ intends to apologize as soon as he can, but as usual, life gets in the way. The next day, Ignis asks him to join him in picking Noctis and Prompto from school, and Gladio – seeing a perfect moment for the aforementioned apology – agrees. It's not until they're standing next to the car outside the school that Ignis begins talking.

”Prompto had an unfortunate... event yesterday morning,” he says. Gladio, at this point, does not yet connect the dots. ”He was stopped by a stranger who knew his name, which left him quite shaken. Curiously enough, Prompto is worried for His Highness, who in turn fears for his friend. It's almost endearing, if the subject wasn't such a worrisome one.”

The bell rings while Ignis is speaking and Gladio takes a moment to catch up. Students start pouring out of the doors, Prompto's blond hair a beacon in the darker crowds, and Gladio suddenly realizes what's going on. ”Yesterday...” he begins, drawing a nod from Ignis.

”Yes,” Ignis says. ”He was running – he jogs every morning, I hear – near the–”

”The Founder King Memorial Park, at quarter past five in the morning,” Gladio supplies. Ignis gives him a look that turns into a Look and Gladio tries not to shrink under it. ”In my defense–”

”I probably should have realized as much based on his description,” Ignis says curtly. ”'A meaty hunk of a man with a massive scar on his face' indeed.”

Gladio chortles but before he gets the chance to say anything, Noctis and Prompto break out of the sea of students, only to halt a few steps later. Prompto squaks like a rubber mouse and throws his arms around Noctis like a frightened octopus, pulling him back a step. ”You!” he yelps, looking between Gladio and Ignis.

”Yeah, me,” Gladio sighs just as he sees understanding hit Noctis.

”It was you?” the prince exclaims, holding onto Prompto in a way that has Gladio quirking an eyebrow at Ignis. ”Oh my gods, Gladio, you can't just go scaring off my friends!”

Rolling his eyes, Gladio lifts a placating palm. ”I know, I know,” he says. ”I'm sorry. I recognized your face and thought I'd say hi, which in hindsight wasn't my best idea.”

”Yeaaah, dude,” Prompto draws out, eyeing Gladio dubiously. He turns to Noctis and asks, ” _this_ is your Shield? Seriously?”

”Uh, yeah,” Noctis says, just as Gladio grunts.

”Oi!”

Prompto continues to watch him. ”I didn't mean it like _that_ ,” he says, still hiding in Noctis' arms. ”Just, dunno, I thought you'd be more like Iggy?”

” _Iggy_ ,” Gladio repeats, glancing at the man in question. Ignis pushes up his glasses, face turned away, and Gladio laughs. It took him months before he was allowed to call Ignis anything other than his given name.

”Well, the most pressing matter has been solved,” Ignis says pointedly, ”so perhaps we ought to get going?”

He rounds the car and Gladio turns to face him. ”You're not getting out of this that easily,” he mouths while the two teens scramble into the back of the car. ” _Iggy_.”


	8. Cor II

When Clarus pulls Cor aside to tell him about the prince's new friend, he doesn't know how to react so he walks himself out of the situation. Later that evening, when he's home and fed and done with his daily chores, he sits himself in his armchair but keeps on glancing at the plethora of photographs on his bookshelves, and finds himself groaning into his palms. He doesn't know what to think, doesn't know what to do, doesn't know anything but the simple fact that after making his peace with his loss he's suddenly faced with the return of one of the most important things in his life.

”His Highness has made a friend at school,” Clarus tells him. ”We haven't finished clearing him but I thought I should tell you first,” he says. ”It's Prompto.”

And Prompto it is. Cor avoids the situation at first, not wanting to risk anything, but within the span of a month he starts to hear whispers about the prince's new friend, a commoner, a Niff, a really happy boy with bright smile warm as sunshine, and every word he hears makes Cor falter in indecisiveness. In the end, the choice is taken from him; some five weeks into the friendship, he spots Prompto exiting one of the training halls and knows he needs to do this now.

The boy looks good; healthy, happy, flushing with laughter. At first, Cor simply watches him for a moment, but then Prompto begins walking away and he steps up.

”Prompto,” Cor calls. He watches the teenager turn and for a long, horrible moment, he sees nothing but blank wariness on the familiar, freckled face. Then, like a strike of lightning from the sky, recognition hits and a sunny smile splits Prompto's face in two.

In that moment, Cor sees Mimosa. She's there in the gold of his hair, the blue of his eyes, the utter joy of his smile – but then he sees John there too, because behind the Niff colors hides a grin too wide and goofy to be hers. It's an expression Cor has seen countless times, one he thought long forgotten.

”Cor!” Prompto gasps, then falters. ”Um. Hi? Hi!”

”Long time no see,” Cor says, walking up to the teen. ”Are you in a hurry somewhere?”

”Uh, not really.” Prompto glances at the training halls and wrings his wrists. ”I was just going home. Gladio, um, he said it was okay for me to watch Noct train with him?”

Cor nods. ”If he says so,” he speaks, trying to placate Prompto's nerves. ”Would you mind walking with me?”

Prompto shakes his head, giving him a shy but honest smile. ”If that's okay?” he says. ”I probably wouldn't find my way out on my out anyways. I got lost the last time and some Glaive had to walk me out. It was embarrassing!”

Cor finds himself chuckling as he steers Prompto down the hallway. ”If it makes you feel any better, you're far from the first to do that,” he says. ”Which way are you headed?”

”Uh, the train station.” It doesn't escape Cor's notice how Prompto keeps on glancing his way every few seconds. ”I can find my way once I'm out of the building, but man, these corridors...”

They pass a couple Crownsguards who nod at Cor and eye Prompto curiously, and then, out of sudden, Dustin is standing at a corner with a phone pressed to his ear. He recognizes Prompto immediately – Cor can see the moment it happens – but doesn't say anything, only looks at Cor with the patentent we're-gonna-talk expression while Prompto's gaze glides past him. It suddenly hits Cor that there is still a small handful of people in this building who know Prompto, that he's not the only one who held and played with the child he grew to love. It makes this all feel so much more real.

”I hear you're doing well in school,” Cor comments when they're far past Dustin's hearing range. It's not a very original conversation starter but does the trick all the same, because Prompto beams at him and babbles on.

”I got a scholarship,” he says, ”to Insomnia High. I'm, uh, really good at maths.”

Cor nods. Insomnia High is so popular they can pick their own students, both from the paying families and the crowds applying for scholarships; getting in is no easy task these days, and the knowledge kindles something akin to pride in Cor's heart. ”That's great,” he says, giving Prompto a small smile, which is immediately returned to him.

They enter an elevator with a few others in it and the conversation dies on the spot. Once they exit, they're almost out of the Citadel, but there's a question hanging in the air Cor needs to ask but doesn't really want to word. Either way, when they're past the elevator hall, he sighs and asks, ”And how is John doing?”

Prompto's mood falls visibly; not into sad or upset, Cor is thankful to notice, but into something quite somber all the same. ”He's... okay, I guess,” he says, shrugging. ”Works a lot, doesn't have a lot of friends. Not bad, but could be better. Probably wouldn't like you showing up.”

After the last words, Cor huffs a humorless laugh. ”Oh, I expected as much, no need to be so glum about it,” he says, reaching to rap his knuckles against Prompto's arms. Like a light switch, the boy begins smiling once more, looking up at him with the same shy but pleased expression he's already starting to grow used to.

A moment later, they're outside. People are piling out of the Citadel around them, steady streams of cars driving away from the underground parking slots. ”Can you find your way from here?” Cor asks.

”Yup, sure thing!” Prompto replies. ”The train station's pretty close too. Thanks for walking me!”

Cor nods. ”Of course,” he says. For a moment, he considers offering Prompto a ride home, but he doesn't want to risk running into John, and it's not even that late yet. The city will be suffering from rush hour as most day-shift workers head home after work, yet the trains will be running the same as always, on schedule and on familiar routes.

He's so lost in thought he almost misses Prompto speaking. ”–wanted to say, it was really nice meeting you again,” the teen says, and Cor feels each word in his heart.

”Yeah,” he agrees. ”It was.”

Cor watches Prompto skip towards the nearest train station, an uncomfortable lump stuck in his throat but a steep warmth spreading in his chest.


	9. Regis

The expression on Noctis' face is so delightfully affronted that Regis can't resist snapping a picture of it. Covered in mud and a few bloodied scrapes, Noctis covers in the middle of his living room floor, mouth pressed into a thin grimace and eyes blazing with fury. ”I hate you,” he says, pointing a finger at Regis; ”I hate you,” he says, turning to Clarus; ”and I definitely fucking hate you,” he finishes, staring at Gladio, and twists his hand into a truly rude motion.

” _Oh no_ , how am I ever supposed to live with this?” Gladio laments, rolling his eyes. ”Go take a shower, Princess, maybe you'll be in a better mood. Iggy's gonna kill you if you get more mud on these floors.”

Like under orders, Noctis drag his muddy socks across the floorboards, leaving behind long streaks of dirt. Regis watches him go, waits for the doors to slam – first the bedroom door, then the bath – before turning to face Gladio. ”So tell me again,” he says, leaning his elbows on Noctis' dining table, ”what exactly happened?”

”A gym accident is all they're telling me,” Gladio says, snorting. ”They were running hurdles or some shit, and Noct fell all over his face in a pool of mud. Strained his wrist, but the school nurse fixed that up for him.”

Clarus chuckles. ”Poor baby,” he murmurs, elbowing Regis' side. ”Do you hear that? The future of this nation, taken down by a muddy track. Truly a shame.”

”Oh, hush now,” Regis says, rolling his eyes towards the ceiling. ”And what of young Prompto? I was under the impression we were to meet him today.”

Gladio nods. ”Iggy's picking up now, they should be here any moment,” he explains. ”Noct's out of milk or something, so Iggy said they're gonna hit a grocery store on their way here.”  
¨

The meeting is something Regis has been trying to arrange for a while now; they're well into the spring of Noctis' first year in high school, and the friendship between him and Prompto has lasted long enough that Regis is getting tired of hearing about a boy he himself has not yet know.

”Ah, I see.”

It doesn't take long before Regis hears the first signs of movement from behind the door, and what appears a second later, a blond boy rushes into the apartment with his shoes flying off and an excited grin on his face. ” _Noct-Noct-Noct-Noct-Noct–_ ” he chants, only to freeze in utter horror when he notices the apartment isn't as empty as he apparently thought it was. He's holding his hands clasped together, the way children do when they find a butterfly or a particularly nasty little bug, and brings them up to his chest in horrified shock.

”Iggy, Prompto,” Gladio greets them, smiling easily – a bit devilishly even, Regis is quick to notice – as he points a hand at Clarus and Regis. ”My dad, you know him, and the King.”

Prompto keeps on glancing at them all, from Gladio to Clarus to Regis, then back to Gladio, only settling when he turns to Ignis, body curled in a textbook example of betrayal. ” _Iggy_ ,” he gasps, pleading, and Regis almost feels bad for the boy. Almost.

”Forgive me, Prompto,” Ignis says. ”His Majesty has been wishing for a meeting for quite a long time now, and I didn't think you'd show up if I told you.”

” _Traitor_ ,” Prompto whispers at him. ”Traitor!”

”If you say so,” Ignis replies easily, walking towards the kitchen with a bag of groceries propped up against his chest. ”You are aware, of course, that most people _pay_ for a chance to talk with His Majesty.”

Prompto looks like he's thinking the one thing everyone always thinks when those kinds of meetings come up – that _surely_ there must be better ways to spend one's hard-earned money – but finally, finally seems to give in and turns to face the kitchen table with an endearingly nervous flutter of a smile on his lips. ”I would like to affer my apologies as well,” Regis says. ”I merely wanted to meet my son's best friend – he has been talking about you so much, I'm sure you can understand this foolish old man's curiosity over the matter.”

”Oh,” Prompto murmurs, now blushing in what looks like embarrassment to Regis. ”Um, thank you? Sir? Your Majesty? Hi?”

”Well, hello,” Regis smiles. ”I am very pleased to finally have met you. Oh, Noctis will be just a moment; he's still scrubbing off the proof of whatever little stumble he had at school.”

Even before he's finished, Prompto's face twists into the puckered grimace of someone trying to hold back his laughter. ”I got it on tape,” the boy says a moment later, glancing in the direction of Noctis' room. He's still holding his hands together. ”Noct's really bad at hurdles, especially for someone who can, uh, just – warp past things. Sir.”

”Ah, yes, you were there to witness the whole debacle,” Regis chuckles, making a mental note to get the video later on. He nods his head towards Prompto and the hands clasped over his breasts, and asks, ”What do you have there?”

”He's a teenage boy, Reggie,” Clarus intones before Prompto gets the chance to answer. ”You of all people should know it's not going to be anything good.”

”Nah, dad,” Gladio buts in, grinning over his book. ”Chocobutt here doesn't have a single bad bone in his entire twiggy body.”

”My hair does not–!” Prompto starts, blushing furiously. He shifts nervously from one foor to another, until Regis beckons him closer with a simple crook of his fingers.

When Prompto opens his palms, he reveals a black chocobo keychain. Gladio chokes a laugh immediately, sniggering something too quiet for Regis to hear, and somehow the blush on Prompto's face grows even darker and redder. Regis eyes the keychain, realizes he probably shouldn't be surprised; the boy wears a thin windbreaker yellow as sunflowers over his school uniform, and his backbag is in the shape of a cartoonish chocobo head. The little black chocobo is in no way out of place on Prompto's upturned palms, yet there's something in the way he's looking at the others, almost expectant, that makes Regis wonder if there's more to the toy than appears.

”Tell 'em what that thing is,” Gladio continues to cackle. ”These old men aren't _that_ up to date, kid.”

Prompto steps even closer, until he's standing at the edge of the table and Regis can see the finer details of the chocobo. It's standing up with its wings raised out, a blue fish clutched in its beak, and for some reason, there's a golden crown stambed on its thigh. ”It's the super rare My Little Chocobo: The Power of Friendship Season 7 Ultimate Summer Collection, Keychain Edition Kingfisher model!”

Regis blinks, glances at Clarus only to see him looking just as befuddled as he feels. ”I'm sorry,” he says slowly, turning back to Prompto, ”I'm not sure I followed.”

”It's a line of collectible toys from this stupid old TV show about cartoon chocobos,” Gladio explains. ”I thought you had all of the keychains already, though?”

”Almost,” Prompto mumbles, not looking anyone in the eye. ”And it's not just some ordinary keychain, y'know. It's _Kingfisher_.”

As he speaks, he glances towards Noctis' room once more, and still it takes a moment before Regis makes the connection. Suddenly it's like his entire chest is submerged in a hot bath, and all he can think is _oh, this boy sure is precious–_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next time Regis sees the keychain, it's attached to Noctis' school bag :')
> 
> Also... if My Little Pony is My Little Chocobo in this verse, then are bronies brocobos or *gasp* chocobros? :D


	10. Mimosa

She leaves the town after the sun begins to set over the mountains. It's been a while since she last had to pass the border like this, a step into Tenebrae's side of the town, then another into the Niff half, and then a third into Imperial territory, but the secrets of tresspassing borders are not yet lost from her mind, her instincts, the very way her body moves in the shadows and the treacherous mountain trails. 

Only a few years earlier, the entire border region was awash in a sea of glaringly bright lights operated by soulless machines, but now, all that's left are the remains of Imperial bases. Cold, hard steel jutting from the ground in the form a fortress, a wall, countless watch towers previously equipped with machine guns and an endless supply of bullets. Today, tonight, they are all empty, and there is no-one around to stop her from coming and going as she wishes. Still, she sneaks her way through Imperial ruins, the way she used to do during the war.

Five hours later, she stands on a hill rising above the burnt remnants of an old holiday house she used to visit as a child. It belonged to an uncle whose name she has long since forced herself to forget, but now, almost two decades later, there is no-one left to claim the land. She stands in the shadows of the night and waits under cold moonlight until heavy steps approach her.

”You made it,” she says, forcing a smile on her face as she turns to face the newcomer. ”Brother.”

Her brother nods at her. He hasn't smiled since the day he was drafted into the labs, but the warmth she used to see on his face is now in his hug, and she knows better than to refuse what she is given so she doesn't. ”It's been a while,” he says, leaning back to begin unbuckling the harness around his upper body. ”I'm sorry, I can't stay long.”

”I know,” she says. Together, they lift the harness from his shoulders and onto her body, where the straps are almost too loose even after being secured as tight as possible. ”Tell mom and dad I love them, okay?”

”You could come home, now,” he tries, like he's tried so many times before, like he didn't know it futile. Her home is not in Nifflheim, like it's not in Tenebrae. Her mother is a tall woman with an equally tall neck, not a war-broken shell in a wheelchair. Her father laughs with a voice that booms through the manor they used to live in, not whatever the rumors say he's become. Home is no longer home and in this instance, she'd rather have the memories than the reality.

”You know I can't,” she says, reaching to hold his gaunt face. She's silent for a while, staring into dark eyes shadowed by the night around them, and the hand around her heart clutches tighter. ”I'm sorry.”

The apology is for a million different things. For childhood quarrerls, for years spent apart, for her safety and his forced hands, for things she had no say in. He looks at her and repeats her words, apologizing for the exact same things, and after one last hug, she's on her way back to the town split by the border.

The first time she made this strip, starting in Gralea and ending in the town, she was nine years old and walked hand-in-hand with a tall man who had taken all her family's wealth in exchange for one life. That's all they had been worth, in the end: one life, and her parents had chosen her, the youngest one, the only girl. Back then, she crossed the border – from Nifflheim to the Niff side of the village to the Tenebraean side to Tenebrae proper – with the last of their family jewels bundled under her shirt, because the man wasn't the only person who needed a payment. Back then, she gave the gold and turquoise jewels in exchange for new parents, a new name, trading a green-blue stone the size of a quail egg for a bed in a small house and a dozen matching bracelets for a new life.

Today, she carries something far more precious than priceless gems passed from one generation to another. The sun rises behind her back when she steps past the potato fields marking the town border on Nifflheim's side, and though people are already out and about, she doesn't bother trying to hide. Not this time. Cradled by the harness, the baby awakens with a startled coo and blinks open eyes the color of summer skies.

”Aunties!” she calls for a group of older women sitting at a table nearby. They're good at looking without seeing, equally good at seeing without looking, but at the sound of her voice, they all turn to her and acknowledge her entrance. ”Did I ever show you my son?”

She'll call him Prompto. She'll need another new name for herself before she leaves, but she's already been mouthing alternatives until one sounded right and stuck. When she leaves, she'll call herself Mimosa, and her son will be Prompto, and together they'll leave for Insomnia where the wounds of war are not scripted into every town, every gobblestone, every empty house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I was writing Camping (the first piece where I mentioned Mimosa and how alike her and Prompto look), I briefly considering making her related to Verstael Besithia to explain the similarities. In the end, I scrapped that idea because doing so would have required a counterpart later on in the story, something like Prompto visiting Nifflheim to meet his lost relatives, but I really didn't want to write that because this series was already getting out of hand by then :D So what happens really is that he technically has family he's not aware of, and the family all know Mimosa left to be happy and that's all they need anyways.


	11. John

He's taking a stroll through the city when he first sees her and the baby carriage tilted against the wall between two shop windows. John is on the other side of the street and has a perfect view of all the people walking past her, either ignoring her or sending dirty looks her way, and between the gaps of their bodies, he sees a glimpse of blonde hair and within seconds, his mood drops down.

He used to be so naive, John thinks while crossing the street to get to her. He believed that once the war was over, things would fall into their right places as if by magic, all grudges and distrust gone with the flash of the peace treaty on TV screens. But that's not what happened, he know knows; with the battles and skirmishes over, the people found new ways to hurt and survive.

”Hey,” John greets the woman, who squats at the front of the carriage with a toddler held against her chest. Her free hand is twiddling with one one of the wheels but whatever she's attempting to do, she can't finish. ”Do you need help?”

The woman looks up at her from behind a curtain of golden hair, flashes bright blue eyes at John; she's either a Niff or a Tenebraean, hard to say which, and people would rather assume too much than too little these days. She, too, watches him with careful eyes, and John remembers his times in the frontlines and how he watched others with the same look on his face.

”There's a stone jamming one of the wheels,” she says after a moment, ”and it keeps on tipping the pram over when I try to push it.”

Nodding, John cranes his head to get a better look. ”Can I try?” he asks, grinning a little. ”I don't have my hands full like you do.”

He's rewarded with a small if careful smile, and she stands up, switching the child into her other arm. ”Thanks,” she says. ”It's the left wheel.”

John takes her previous position crouched next to the carriage and soon spots the problem; a small pebble stuck in the wheel, stopping it from spinning. He gives the parts an experiemental wiggle to test the give, then reaches to pull out one of the pens he keeps in his bag. The pebble pops loose after a moment of digging and John spins the wheel with the tip of his finger, satisfied when it moves without a problem.

”Well, there you go, problem solved,” he says, standing up once more.

”Thanks,” she says, smiling more freely now. ”That was almost embarrassingly simple, but with this one trying to figure out walking...”

John laughs. ”That's fair,” he grins, stepping aside so she can walk around the carriage to set the child in the seat. The toddler wiggles its legs, probably not entirely satisfied with being tied down once more, and John gets lost in the happy babbles and squeals spilling into the air around them. This is a child who will never know war, the reason they all fought so long. There's an entire generation growing up in the streets of Insomnia, in the outskirts of Lucis, all the way up to Nifflheim and Tenebrae and Accordo, who will be raised in the shadow of a past war but who will never pick up weapons of their own. Even the King has a son of his own, now, a wiggly little thing John has only ever seen in passing; it's like the world is living once more, like spring has come after a long, harsh winter.

”Thanks, really,” the woman says once more, offering her palm in a handshake John accepts. Wherever she comes from, she's seen war; it's written in the wrinkles of her face, the almost forced edge in her smile, the overpowering embarrassment of being felled by a mere pebble after surviving a lifetime of war.

”It's fine,” John tells her, smiling because he understands.

The baby coos and her smile grows more genuine. ”Hey, uh, I should probably buy you a coffee or something? For the three seconds it took you to fix my entire day?”

”I mean, if you _want_ to,” John grins, almost bouncing on his feet. ”There's a really good Galahdian bakery not that far, if you're into that? The guy who owns the place is married to one of my friends, but it's a pretty quiet place this early in the day.”

”That's nice,” she says. ”Oh, I'm Mimosa, by the way. This is Prompto.”

”John,” he offers his name, then hesitates for a moment. ”I work in Crownsguard.”

It can be bit of a problem, these days, the blood on his hands and the lives he's claimed over the years; refugees and immigrants especially tend to be wary of the military and people involved with the Crown. Mimosa falters, stopping to stare at him for a moment that feels awfully long when they've only just met, but soon she shrugs and pushes the carriage forward.

”I used to work for the resistance,” she says instead, like it wasn't a massive secret almost like a death sentence. Tenebrae or the Empire, she's been fighting for the same cause John did, and he can only whistle in awed surprise.

”Nice,” he says instead, and when he holds out his hand for a high five, she returns it with a grin that does awful things to his already flustered heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And with this update, the series is now officially done. A million billion thanks to everyone who's been commenting, kudoing, reading this -- whether you started with the first update or the last, you're all so very important to me <3 I never thought this series would get as popular as it did, and the amount of comments and kudos I keep on getting is astounding! Thank you all, I'm always happy to hear your thoughts about the stories I write <3
> 
> While this series is over, I'm nowhere near done with this fandom. I'll be back next week with a completely new story; it's 15k words and nine chapters of Cor suffering and trying to survive ;)


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